


Heart

by Fostofina



Series: Home, Heart and Needle [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A lot more Jonrya heavy than the last one, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ebon is still an awesome word, F/M, Sibling Bonding, Sibling Love, Sister-Sister Relationship, Takes place after season 7, a mix of book and show cannon, assumes 5 year gap happened, because i'm trash, but also copious amount of Stark sisters, but books take precedence, well it's more open-ended but it can only be happy amirirght?, yet another small scene that turned into this long ass one shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-14 23:14:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13018230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fostofina/pseuds/Fostofina
Summary: "Sansa’s chest clenches at the pain etched onto Arya’s beseeching features, as if she’s holding the last sip of water in Westeros in the palm of her hands."A sequel to Home, in which Jon is being shady and Arya tries to get to the bottom of it.





	Heart

'Sometimes, I wanted to kill myself’ Sansa’s voice is strained as she mumbles her third secret to Arya.

Sansa doesn’t tell Arya everything at once, instead she quietly gives her fragments to sow together. The first one she whispered to her when they were lying together in father’s bed, just as they are now, it was how she still admires Cersei. _A lie that even she doesn’t realize yet._ The second one she confided when she was in the Godswood watching Arya practice, it was how she blamed herself for father, and sometimes even Robb. That secret wasn’t a lie, just as this one isn’t.

‘I’d lay in bed and think about throwing myself out the window, or grabbing the knife at dinner time to put an end to it’ Arya wishes she could help ease Sansa’s pain, but she was never soft and comforting the way her mother had been, she doesn’t know how to make solace glide from her touch and onto Sansa’s skin the way she had done for her. So instead Arya does all she can, she squeezes her sister’s shaking hand and curses her own uselessness.

‘I didn’t really want to die, I just wanted to stop being so afraid and hurt all the time.’ Sansa’s voice wavers as she squeezes Arya’s hand back ‘I still don’t know whether I didn’t go through with it because I was too craven to do it, or because I was strong enough not to.’

Sansa’s brows furrow in distress and her face is so open that Arya’s can read it with only a glance, her sister’s eyes look wounded, and the lines in her face tell a story of haunting humiliation. And for a moment Arya wonders if Sansa blames herself for not raging against the Lannisters. Does she think herself a coward for not shouting at Cersei? Does she think herself a weakling for not trying to kill Joffrey? Doesn’t she know that doing that would’ve been really stupid?

‘I’m glad that you didn’t do it’ she presses another useless kiss right on the lines on Sansa’s forehead ‘if you did, you wouldn’t be here right now’

The lady of Winterfell stills and her face unwinds, a small smile making its way to her lips as if she knows what Arya is thinking and not saying ‘Oh Arya, but you’d still have the king and the _three-eyed raaaaavhen_ for company’.

The two of them break into peels of laughter, well, Sansa does anyway. Arya laughs so her sister doesn’t feel left out. She doesn’t say that the king wouldn’t keep her company at all. That _his grace_ refuses to meet her eyes, or that he walks the other way when he sees her coming. Arya can’t admit that he hadn’t spoken one word to her since they saw each other again, not even a _good day_ or _good night_ . There had been no smiles thrown her way, let along hugs, hair mussings and _little sisters._ So instead Arya laughs and laughs with Sansa, until her sister suddenly muffles Arya’s voice with her delicate hands.

‘Arya what’s wrong?’ Sansa slowly releases Arya’s mouth ‘Why aren’t you laughing with me?’

 _Seven hells!_ When did Sansa get so shrewd? Or was she just getting worse at facelessness?

‘I _was_ laughing!’

‘Yes, but it wasn’t _your_ laugh’ she just shrugs at Arya’s raised eyebrow ‘you have your own laughter, I don’t know how else to put it’.

Right.

She’s definitely getting worse at this.

‘Now, what was _that_ about?’ Sansa starts to stroke Arya’s hair again, and it’s still infuriatingly effective at breaking down all of her walls.

‘Sansa?’ Arya chews on her bottom lip as she studies her sister’s face ‘Do you know why Jon is like this?’

Dark guilt creeps into blue eyes and it makes Arya hurt in a way that she hadn’t felt since Gendry left her behind. She had told Sansa everything, She had confided in her with all her pain, Sansa _knew_! She knew how important this was for her and she…

‘What do you know?’ Arya barks at her and even she’s surprised at how hoarse her own voice sounds.

‘I...Arya I swear, I don’t know anything that would make this any better.’ her sister’s voice is pleading, and Arya wants to lash out, she wants to recoil in anger and demand answers. But then no one would stroke her hair or sit with her when she practices, no one would hold her through her nightmares or call her little sister anymore ‘you have to believe me, please…’

‘I’m still angry at you…’Arya half-grumbles-half-growls as she breaks away from Sansa, she even finds a spot on the ceiling to stare at, but even so she doesn’t leave father’s bed.

‘I would tell you if I could, I promise I would’ her lady sister pleads again, and the worst part…

The worst part is that she’s telling the truth.

* * *

The next day when Sansa wakes, Arya is gone. She gets up and practically dashes to her sister’s room, nightgown and all, to find the strangest most captivating thing she’s ever seen in her life.

Arya, _her little sister_ , stands in her room in a beautiful silvery gown. The dress is a true masterpiece, exquisitely embroidered with fine pearls and delicate myrish lace and gracefully flowing to the ground as it effortlessly clings to all the right places. It’s not just the gown that stops Sansa in her tracks, it’s not the way _everything_ looks on her sister, the elegant jewelry adorning her body or the way her hair is made into the most simple and refined style she had ever seen. It’s not even the way the morning light pours through the window and around her sister’s sylphlike figure, making her look like a dancing swan. What completely stuns Sansa is that no one is in the room to even help Arya dress.

Is she still dreaming? Maybe she should pinch herself for good measure. _Ouch!_ Alright, no...she’s…definitely awake.

‘Arya!’ Sansa remembers to close her mouth ‘you look…  _wondrous.sublime.stunning_ ‘...lovely!’

Arya gives her a shy smile ‘you really think so? I had this when I was training with the courtesans in Braavos. Some merchant bought this for me to gain my favor. The woman teaching me said it must’ve cost him a lot.’

Her sister had told her that she’d trained with the courtesans, but hearing is one thing, seeing is another matter entirely ‘Did you do all of this by yourself?’

‘Aye I did’ Arya nods nervously ‘they taught me that I had to know how to make myself beautiful, that I had my own special kind of beauty, and that I should embrace it and not settle for anything different if I truly wanted to drive a man mad’ an anxious puff of laughter escapes her ‘can you imagine that before I chose this gown, they had me throw out six other dresses and five necklaces I think, _oh_ and they had me style my hair and paint my face in all sorts of ways and then…’

‘You look beautiful’ Sansa crosses the room and kisses her cheek ‘I mean it.’

A lovely pink blush blooms on Arya’s skin, it makes Sansa remembers just how _young_ her sister is despite all that she had already seen and endured ‘So what made you put on this gown? Did you finally decide to drive that handsome Baratheon boy mad? Or did you realise that filthy torn breeches are not fashionable this season?’

‘ _Ha. Ha. Haaaaa_ ’ the young lady drawls as her pink skin flushes red anew ‘Gendry is my friend, and I like my breeches thank you very much’ She then meets Sansa’s gaze, uncertainty suddenly shimmering in her eyes ‘I just thought...well...it’s really stupid, but, I think that Jon is like that because he doesn’t want to accept that I’ve grown. I mean you’ve seen how he looked at my dress when he came to Winterfell, right?’

_He wasn’t looking at the dress, little sister. His eyes were roaming underneath it._

‘I don’t think you’re _wrong_ …’ Sansa curses the king again for making her crush Arya’s spirit like this ‘but seeing you like this isn’t the best way to handle it.’

‘What?!’ Arya’s eyebrows try to crawl into her hairline _‘you,_ of all people, are telling me to take off my nice dress and wear something else? Sansa... _what’s_ going on with him?!’ her small hands reach out like a supplicant and her eyes turn stormy and worried ‘ _please..._ I need to know, is it something I’ve done? Please, I promise I won’t be cross if you tell me...just....please tell me, please...’

Sansa’s chest clenches at the pain etched onto Arya’s beseeching features, as if she’s holding the last sip of water in Westeros in the palm of her hands.

The drum of her heartbeat rings through her body as she considers very, _very_ carefully how she would handle this situation: if she blurts out everything then Arya will bolt at worst, or shut herself off at best, and either way she’ll be lost to them forever again. But if Sansa holds her tongue then maybe by time Jon will rid himself of whatever madness that overtook him, or at the very least he’d leave to rule alongside his silver queen. And Arya…

Arya might forgive her one day.

‘I don’t know anything.’ Sansa keeps her voice straight, trying to ignore the fact that it’s the second time she’s choosing some king’s secret over her sister’s approval because this is not, _this is not_ the same thing. No matter how said sister’s unimpressed stare accuses her, or how it makes guilt roil beneath her skin all the same.

‘Well then’ Arya’s voice turns cold and sweet and furious ‘if you don’t know why he’s like this, then you wouldn’t know if the dress is a bad idea either. Now leave me be sister, I must tend to some things before we break our fast’.

* * *

No one notices Arya when she enters the hall and slips quietly into Sansa’s empty seat next to Jon, she catches the last string of conversation from next to her.

‘I do hope that Lady Sansa is well’ Daenerys Targaryen puts her hand near Jon’s on the table, and Arya has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Flirting had always seemed a thousand times stupider when Jon was involved.

‘As do I’ Jon’s own hand hovers closer to the queen’s and yes, this is definitely really _really_ stupid ‘mayhaps we can see her afterwards’

The words make her angry for some reason, as if Daenerys is the reason why Jon isn’t hers anymore. It’s a silly notion that Arya knows she should dismiss, but she doesn’t want to because the alternative would be…

‘Good Morning !’ She touches Jon’s arm, not wanting to think of the alternative, she only wants to stop him from being stupid with Daenerys at _breakfast._

Jon half turns to her as he sips on his water, likely to wave her off. But something happens as soon as their eyes meet because he suddenly drops his cup, spilling water all over his lap as he coughs out whatever was left in his mouth.

Arya hides her smirk as she pats him on the back, maybe now they can finally have a proper conversation and put this thing to rest ‘Do you like my dress?’

‘It’s…’ Jon catches his breath ‘Arya what are you doing here? This is Sansa’s seat.’

‘She isn’t here now…’

‘Go to your seat Arya.’ Jon’s eyes are hard when he looks at her, they look less like Winterfell’s walls and more like Valyrian steel, and his voice is harsh and rigid like he’s berating a misbehaving child.

‘But..’

‘Now!’ Jon orders, he _orders_ her back to her seat. She looks at the face of the brother that she used to leave the high table for, even when her mother would scold her and the other girls would snicker at her for it.

Her eyes flit from the king’s angry face to the queen who’s hiding her _pity_ with a neutral expression. And her hands clasp over her heart on instinct because it _hurts_ , it feels like it’s bleeding, like the Waif had stabbed her there instead of her belly.

Regret flickers in Jon’s gaze but Arya flees before he says anything to her, she wants to go to her room and rip off this stupid dress, she wants to go get Needle and dance with it until she passes out, she wants to ride into the Wolfswood to find Nymeria and Ghost and the rest of the pack.

Halfway to her room a hand grabs her wrist and whirls her around, and Arya already knows who it is ‘Arya, please!’

‘How could you?’ Her voice comes out more broken then she would have ever liked, and it’s a shame because there is so much more she wants to tell him. _You were supposed to be the one who saw a person when everyone else saw some she-wolf they had to tame. You were suppose to treat my dreams and desires like they were a valid thing and not just bouts of defiance and rebellion. You were supposed to understand me when everyone else dismissed me._

_You were supposed to want me, even if no one else did._

But the anguish on Jon’s face already tells her that he knows what she’s thinking ‘I’m so sorry, I just...I just can’t…’

Of course he can’t.

Of course he _can’t_.

It didn’t take long for her to know that Thoros’ Red God had brought Jon back from the dead, no matter how much he tries to keep it a secret. At first Arya was too glad that Jon was still alive to care, then she remembered what Beric said about coming back and she wondered what piece of Jon was lost forever. She had her suspicions but now she knows for sure, Jon might be part of her soul, but she’s no longer part of his.

‘It’s alright Jon’ Arya swallows her screams ‘go back and finish your food, and just...don’t talk to me again.’

The hand around her wrist lets go as if she’s burned it and Arya turns around to leave before she sees something else that would break her already tattered heart.

* * *

It isn’t until late at night that Sansa sees Arya again. Part of it is because Sansa can’t quite face her but it’s mostly because Arya had been gone since morning, small wonder considering what happened.

Her sister walks soundlessly into her room with a bunch wild flowers and roses clutched in her hand ‘I’m sorry I didn’t trust you, the dress was a really stupid idea’ she offers the flowers foreword, their scent wafting into Sansa’s nose ‘here I brought you these, I tried to wash them but then they got soggy and some of the petals fell off.’

Once Sansa had laughed at Arya for getting ragged while bringing muddy flowers to their father, her laughter had soon turned into envy when he smiled and thanked her for them as if she’d brought him something precious. Now looking at the sister who brings her a piece offering before the day is out, the Lady of Winterfell thinks she understands how her lord father had felt back then.

‘I’m sorry too’ Sansa lifts the bed covers, biding Arya next to her ‘I should have been honest with you from the start, I’ll tell you whatever you want.’

‘Let’s not talk about it anymore.’ The mattress dips as her sister settles next to her and draws Sansa into her relentless embrace, chasing the weariness away from her bones.

‘I wish I could take back my first kiss...’ the fourth secret dribbles from her lips.

‘It couldn’t have been worse than mine.’ Arya makes a face at her.

‘Septa Mordane was there for mine! She was watching!’

‘Sansa, my first kiss was when I was one and ten, he pushed his tongue in my mouth. It was wet and slimy and his mouth smelled horrible.’

‘Mine was with Joffrey.’

Arya cringes back and gags _‘Ewwww!_ alright you win.’

The two girls break into giggles, as if they were talking about kissing handsome knights and not about old disturbing memories.

‘You could always kiss someone better’ Sansa picks at the pretty flowers ‘Have you seen the way lord Baratheon looks at you?’

‘Gendry isn’t a lord!’ her little sister scrunches her nose.

‘He will be’ Sansa stares at her sister, watching her reaction like a hawk ‘there’s no one else who can take the Baratheon name. And you’re avoiding the subject, little sister.’

Arya bites her lip ‘I’m still angry at him.’

‘Won’t you give him another chance?’ the gears in Sansa’s head start turning as an unlikely thought springs to her mind ‘you’re still giving Jon all sorts of chances.’

‘That’s not the same’ the other girl bristles as if she’d tossed a viper at her ‘Gendry turned his back on me when I needed him, Jon…’ her words trail off when she realizes that Jon is actually worse.

‘It’s still not the same.’ she insists, weakly.

‘How so?’ Sansa is calm and quiet while her hand gently wraps around her sister’s arm, ready to pull her back if she tries to bolt.

‘Well, Gendry is my friend’ Arya’s brows furrow in confusion as she bites her lip ‘Jon is...Jon is _Jon_ , he’s not just my friend, he’s... he’s...’

It takes approximately five seconds.

In the span of the first three seconds, her little sister’s expression turns from confusion, to shock to abject horror. And within the other two, Sansa tightens her grip on Arya’s arm as the young girl shoots off the bed, yanking her to the floor with an ‘Oomph’.

‘ _OhGods!_ SansaI’msosorry!’ She helps her back onto the bed and then starts pacing around the room.

 _At least she’s not running away_ . Sansa is sure that Arya can’t brought her back if she does, her sister knows how to disappear better than salt in water. She quenches the dread in her stomach as she wracks her brain for something, _anything_ that would bid her sister to calm down.

* * *

 

Arya’s mind whirls with a thousand memories that suddenly have a completely new meaning as another wave of panic washes through her, so powerful that she can feel the alarm on the tips of her hair. She paces back and forth, back and forth, back and forth and tries to stop and think for two seconds about how in the world is she going to tell Sansa.

‘So what if you’re in love with him?’ Arya halts in utter shock and eyes her too-clever lady sister, feeling much like a cornered animal ‘he’s our cousin! It doesn’t mean anything.’

The desperate look in Sansa’s eyes makes her hackles soften just a little and suddenly her horror gives way to fatigue, because frankly she’s _exhausted_ of this long stupid day and the absurd joke that her life is becoming.

So instead of pacing Arya sits on the edge of the bed and rests her elbows on her knees. She buries her face between her hands as a great tired sigh flutters out from the deepest pit in her belly ‘I didn’t just fall in love with him _now’_ her voice is worn-out and miserable ‘I think I’ve always loved him, before we even left home. I always knew that no one would ever hold my heart like him, that he would always be a part of my soul like I was to him and that he would always be the mirror that reflects me. I think I’m only just understanding what those feelings meant. What does that make me Sansa?’ she looks at her sister’s eyes, searching for any scrap of guidance she can get ‘I’ve loved him before he was my cousin and I still love him now, even when he already has someone who’ll always be a part of him instead, even when he breaks my heart and changes into someone I don’t recognize. What does that make me?’

What _did_ that make her? Separation and war and famine and enslavement and even the faceless men couldn’t dampen her love for him. The truth is she couldn’t cut Jon out from her heart no more than she could drop Needle from her hand, he was a part of her forever and always. Even if he never looks at her again, he would still hold her bleeding heart in the palm of his hand until her last day.

Sansa crawls next to her and starts stroking her hair again ‘I don’t know Arya, but I do know this...’ her tone is quiet and lovely and so damn _comforting_ that Arya almost wants to cry in her arms all over again ‘...come what may, I’ll be here for you.’

Something settles inside of her at the sincerity of Sansa’s promise, something jagged and painful that had been cutting her from the inside out ever since their talk last night ‘As I you.’ Arya promises back, and she means it.

_**~End~** _

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please excuse any mistakes, it's pretty late here (again) and English isn't my first language. But please feel free to point them and I'll get on it!
> 
> On another note: MUAHAHAHAHAH it's open ended! But honestly I left it like that on purpose even though I had this really corny ending in mind when Sansa does the sneeky scheamy subtle equivalent of locking the two of them in a room and have them hash it out. But I wanted to leave what happens next to your imagination, if anyone wants to write a follow-up then I...would probably pass out in joy actually! I realize it's not quite as polished as its predecessor but it was still a ton of fun to write =D
> 
> I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who asked for a part 2 by doing this, I really hope that it you guys enjoyed it! let me know what you guys thought about it =)


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